


Happy Days are Here Again

by Hearrtonmysleeve



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: F/F, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I will go down with any ship involving Anne Hathaway apparently, and I wrote it somehow all in one day?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 19:25:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19482412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hearrtonmysleeve/pseuds/Hearrtonmysleeve
Summary: Daphne and Rose get to know one another post-heist and discover what it truly means to find happiness. A complete ball of fluff. One-Shot.





	Happy Days are Here Again

**Author's Note:**

> For the sake of this story we are pretending a few things: Les Mis was filmed in 2018, Anne didn't have to cut her hair for it, and Daphne is not completely vapid. Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

Still in shock, Daphne steps up to the podium, accepting a gold statue that feels a lot heavier than it looks. Taking a deep breath, she finds a pair of eyes in the crowd that would guide her back home from anywhere.

Daphne’s speech is far more composed than she expected it to be with the lack of preparation. She thanks a few directors and stunt doubles before expressing gratitude to a seemingly unlikely recipient. Rose can hardly believe her ears, even as she hears her own name and the effusive praise tumbling right out of Daphne’s mouth.

Applause rains down upon the room as Daphne exits the stage. Rose sits frozen in her seat, unable to move. Like a light, it dawns on her, and her heart lifts.

* * *

BEFORE

“Ante up, bitches.” Constance says as she shuffles a deck of cards. A fresh set is purchased every poker night to keep her from tampering with them and rigging the deck to win. Everyone tosses a few chips into the center of the table and the game begins.

Poker night is an odd tradition. They rarely play for money, since they can all afford far more than they need. Not to mention they like to keep things interesting. Usually the loser falls victim to a ridiculous truth or dare. Tonight, in the lead is Nine Ball, who has upped her game ever since she last lost weeks ago and had to reveal the first letter of her actual last name.

“Deb, you in?” Nine Ball asks, not looking up from the chips she’s sorting. 

“Yeah. Hold my cards, Lou, I gotta pee.” She moves toward the bathroom. 

“Let me hold them for you,” Daphne says, batting her eyelashes dramatically. 

“Not a chance, sweet cheeks.” She says as she walks away, "I have far too much dirt on Lou, she’s the only one I don’t have to keep my eye on.” 

Lou takes a look at both her cards and Debbie’s once the door to the bathroom is closed, switches an ace of Debbies, for an eight of clubs in her own hand. “So she thinks,” Lou says slyly, winking at Rose who pretends not to see anything. 

“Don’t get me involved in all of that again,” Rose says looking back down at the fabric in her lap, “I am on no one’s side. I am Switzerland.” 

Tammy slides up to the stove where Amita juggles multiple stove eyes with ease. “What are we having?” 

“What aren’t we having is a better question. I’ve been doing a lot of emotional cooking since Brian and I broke up.” 

“You dumped Brian?” Constance says? 

“He was only magical in Paris,” Amita sighs, turning the burner down on the stove. She turns to the group and takes a sip of wine. 

“Damn. So much for those ‘kind eyes’” Constance says. 

“He also has 3 ferrets.” Amita supplies dryly. 

“Who’s getting ferrets?” Debbie says, back from the bathroom. 

“You and Lou. You’re training them to pick pockets.” Constance says. 

“We don’t need a ferret. We have you.” 

“Aww, Deb, you’re too kind to me." 

And the game begins. 

Lou can order takeout like a champ, but nothing beats homemade samosas, so she supplies all the liquor instead. Rose and Amita are sitting out tonight, both busy in their own rights. Amita is a wizard in the kitchen, but learned the hard way how tough it is to juggle the kitchen and a hand of cards. Rose sits burrowed into the couch and is swallowed by a large swath of fabric. She carefully sews an intricate pattern of silk threads onto her latest creation. 

Daphne takes a card from the pile and her face reveals nothing. After all, she’s been acting for years and could pull off a simple poker face in her sleep. Most of the others can too, except for maybe Rose and occasionally Tammy.

Each woman draws a card from the pile before Constance presents a royal flush in a dramatic flourish. 

“What the hell, Constance?” Tammy shouts.

“I win! Crown me, assholes, I win again.”

“There’s no way in hell I’m crowning you anything. How the hell do you have a royal flush? I have the only queen of spades.”

“Well maybe if you weren’t a cheater, Tim-Tam…” Constance sing-songs.

“I may be a thief, but I am not a damn cheater, and don’t call me that!”

The table erupts in shouting and ends with a popcorn fight. Daphne has never been so glad to end a night with a belly full of curry and butter in her hair.

As the games wind down, Daphne takes a break and wanders over to where Rose sits. She hasn’t moved much, and contributes the odd comment to the conversation. She hands Rose a beer as she sits beside her, careful not to jostle Rose’s hard work. 

“We finished off the wine, but I thought you might enjoy a little break.” 

“Thank God, my vision is starting to blur.” Rose sets down her sewing and takes a long swig. She pushes her reading glasses to the top of her head, only to find another pair already resting there. Daphne laughs.

“Why are you sewing so late anyway? Don’t you have assistants for that?” 

“I don’t trust them with intricate threading or bead work. Jessica is a wizard on a sewing machine but she can’t hand-sew for shit.” 

“I see,” Daphne says, “Well I think you’ve worked hard enough for tonight.” 

“I have?” Rose says, adorably rubbing at her bleary eyes. 

“Yep, and now you get a massage.” 

“Do I? And from who?” Rose says coyly, surprising herself by playing it cool. Her heart nearly beats out of her chest. 

“Me, of course. Flip around, I’ll start with your shoulders.” 

“Oh my god,” Rose practically moans. So much for playing it cool. “That feels amazing.” 

“Do you two need a room?” Tammy says, looking far too amused. 

Daphne glares back at her in response. 

“Jesus Christ Rose are your muscles made of rocks?” She kneads Rose’s shoulder a little harder. "Your whole body is basically in knots.” 

“I’m an anxious person, you know this.” 

“That’s why I am here,” Daphne hugs her from behind. “I’ll teach you to relax. Too much stress isn’t good for you, Rose.” 

“So I hear,” Rose says gently, enjoying the embrace. She marvels at the fact that Daphne always manages to see her, or seek her out, even in a crowded room. As a designer, it’s easy to fall by the wayside; the center focus is always her work or the celebrity who happens to be wearing it. Daphne somehow always manages to check in on her when she needs it.

When it gets late, Lou calls Ubers and cabs for the ones awake enough to make it home. Constance passed out an hour before on the couch and is snoring soundly. Daphne has an early appointment and makes her way home. Nine Ball slips out into an Uber she calls for herself, no one is entirely sure where she actually lives. 

Rose decides she could do worse than spend a night under the same roof as Debbie and Lou. She listens to their soft voices from her makeshift bedroom, fake arguing as they tidy up the kitchen. She smiles to herself as she drifts off, thinking of how they brought the kindest strangers into her life, saving her life in more ways than one.

* * *

Daphne realizes slowly, what it’s like to have friends that are real people. She has friends of course, she always has. But they are friends to be seen about town having lunch with at trendy juice bars. They are friends that her publicist approves of, people that have no idea what the world is actually like. They are fine, but they are ornaments, and nothing more. 

Months after the heist Daphne finds it a little hard to readjust to spending time with people who are so superficial. To get back into the swing of things before her press tour, she attends one of the most exclusive birthday parties in Hollywood and recognizes the DJ spinning in the corner. It’s Nine Ball, her long locs tied up into a multicolored scarf and round sunglasses riding low on her nose. She spins the records smoothly, transitioning from one perfect song into another, never skipping a beat. 

Daphne slides over to the booth in the corner, waving to get Nine’s attention. “Hey stranger,” she says. 

Nine Ball smiles, changing the settings on her turntable so that she can take a break to give Daphne a quick hug. Nothing brings people together like saving one another from insurance fraud. 

“How you been?” Nine asks.

“Good,” she smiles, and means it. “I see you’re not doing too bad yourself,” 

Nine can’t quite hide her grin, “You could say I feel like a million bucks.” 

They chat for a bit until someone catches Nine Ball’s attention, she gasps just a little before going back to playing it cool, but Daphne catches it and turns to see who is behind them. Pharrel Williams has made an entrance and chats with his entourage, looking nonchalant as ever as the bartender rushes to send drinks over to their section. By the time Daphne turns back around Nine Ball is back in the corner, playing another killer mix of songs and trying not to look nervous. 

The party goes on all night, Daphne dancing with her friends and keeping an eye on both Nine and Pharell, waiting to make the move. Suddenly her chance presents herself, and she introduces Nine ball to the famous producer. 

That night when she leaves, her feet are killing her, but she will always remember two things: Pharell reaching out to take Nine Ball’s hand, and Nine snapping a selfie right after she hands him a flash drive of her songs. Before she steps out the door, Nine Ball sends a wink her way. 

* * *

The meeting with her publicist does not go well for many reasons. For starters, he always keeps her waiting, a power trip that’s the oldest trick in the book and does nothing but irritate her further. Ted Elliot, the tanned flamboyant bottle blond wouldn’t know the first thing about walking a mile in Daphne’s shoes.

As she waits she thumbs through a magazine, smiling to herself when a photo catches her eye: Pharell and his entourage leaving his birthday bash in the late hours of the morning. Towards the tale end of the group is Nine Ball, holding a glass of red wine as she leaves the club and looking for all the world as if she owns the place. Daphne likes that she’s done a good deed for one of her friends. Pharell is one of the coolest people she’s ever met, and so is Nine; she knew they would hit it off well.

She’s beyond ready to leave this absurd appointment when Ted asks her, “Did you find a date for the Oscars yet?” 

“Seriously?” Daphne says, crossing her arms.

Ted props his thousand dollar shoes on the edge of his desk, “If not I would be happy to find one for you. I think Gerard Butler is due to break up with his girlfriend soon.”

“I can find my own date, Ted. What’s so wrong with going stag? Or bringing a friend?”

“Nothing. If you want the world to look at you and say ‘Look at poor lonely un-castable Daphne Kluger.’”

“Being single makes directors not want to cast me? Since when?”

“Since forever. It sends the message that you’re hard to work with.”

“I am hard to work with. I want respect, and to be taken seriously. I’ve had enough of popping my gum and pretending to be an idiot.”

“I am paid to keep you employed, Daphne. As long as I am your publicist you have given me free reign over your public appearance.”

Daphne glowers at him, “You’re not the only publicist in the business, Ted.”

“But I am the best. Any other questions?”

Daphne glowers at him.

“Well then. I believe we’re done here. I’ve emailed your schedule to your assistant.”

Daphne stands to leave. As she’s about to slam the door he says, “Oh and Daphne? Those 30 pounds you lost for Les Mis? I would keep those off until the Oscars. Thanks, doll.”

With the force of a hurricane, she slams the door as hard as she can, not caring if it’s jammed shut forever.

* * *

Without realizing it, Daphne ends up at Rose’s shop. She grumpily stomped out of Ted’s office, sending a quick text to Nine Ball in her rage. She doesn’t want to imagine what Page Six has to say about her Resting Bitch Face, or apparently, her status as an un-castable hag.  
**  
Daphne: 9. Can you make me invisible? 4 hours tops. No calls, no texts, no paparazzi.**

**Nine Ball: U got it.**

**Daphne: Really? You can do it?**

**Nine Ball: Really? You just asked me that? ;)  
**   
She makes a pit stop at Starbucks, craving something small and sweet to turn her day around. Bitterly, she thinks of Ted and orders plain black coffee instead and a tea for Rose.

The bell above the door to Rose Weil rings a charming little sound. The woman behind the counter with shockingly red hair looks up from the mannequin she’s dressing to assist her. 

“Anything I can help you with, Miss Kluger?”

“Is Rose in?”

“She’s in her office,” the assistant says easily, used to Daphne occasionally stopping by.

Daphne climbs the winding staircase at the back of the shop that leads to Rose’s office, dressing studio, and occasional bedroom. She takes a moment to appreciate the artist in her natural habitat. Rose sits drawing at a light table, at least four different colored pens jutting out from her hair. She’s twisted it up into two messy buns which she has somehow managed to look both sophisticated and adorable.

“So this is where they keep you, locked away in the tallest tower,” Daphne says. 

Rose looks up startled, and shuffles to cover the drawing pad. She catches sight of Daphne and her smile softens the shock on her face. “Hello Daphne.”

Rose comes closer to greet her friend, "What a lovely surprise,” she says, pressing a lingering kiss to daphne’s cheek. “What can I do for you, my sweet?” 

Rose holds her at arms length, noticing she looks a little weary.

“I come bearing gifts,” Daphne says once she releases Rose. She hands over a steaming cup, filled to the brim with strong English breakfast tea, a splash of milk and about a tablespoon of honey, just how Rose likes it. She has a sweet tooth the size of the sea. 

Rose looks up at her like she’s hung the moon and accepts the tea graciously, humming lightly with a pleased smile as she takes a sip. “You are a perfect angel,” she musses, buttering Daphne up. 

“Tell me more,” Daphne says batting her eyelashes dramatically. 

“Sent to me directly from heaven.” 

“Really laying it on thick today, huh,” Daphne laughs.

“The Gods could not fathom a more perfect vision,” Rose says swinging her arms out wide.

“That’s what you say to all the girls, I’m sure.” 

Rose chuckles as she takes a seat, clearing excess swatches off a settee so that Daphne has a place to sit. 

“Did you stop in to see your dress?” 

“No! I want to keep it a secret. I can’t wait until the big reveal.” 

“Fair enough, I do need an updated set of measurements if you’re up for it. You’ve lost too much weight.” 

“My publicist is trying to persuade me to keep it off.” 

“You realize, of course, that in this film the intention was for you to look like a starving prostitute.” Rose says in disbelief.

“Apparently that look suits me.” 

“You my friend, are perfect. Your performance in Les Miserables was brilliant due to your talent, not your size.” 

Daphne melts a little at the compliment, “Oh Rose, that’s very sweet of you to say.” 

“I speak only the truth, my dear.” She whips a pen out of her hair and grabs the pad resting on the table. “Now, stand in the center here so I can get a clear measurement.” 

“Yes ma’am.” Daphne steps up onto the small pedestal.

Try as she might, Daphne is a fidgeter. She scratches at her neck as rose measures her instep, and flips her hair over her shoulders while Rose winds measuring tape around her waist. 

“For the love of god, Daphne,” Rose says with feigned exasperation. 

“I’m sorry! I will be still.” Daphne closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, “Starting now.” 

Rose swiftly continues her measuring and finishes after a few short minutes. “There, was that so hard?” 

Daphne rolls her eyes. 

“How about I take you to lunch for your trouble,” Rose smiles, amused by Daphne’s fake attitude. 

“I get to choose the place?” 

“Deal.” 

The meal with Rose turns her dismal morning into a pleasant afternoon. Without even really trying to, the hilarious little Irish woman distracts her in the most pleasant way. When the meal is complete and they can procrastinate no longer, Rose signs the check. Rose returns to work after their long lunch and Daphne browses a few shops before returning home.

She walks in the door just in time to catch the evening news, and the entertainment news that follows it. There is a snapshot of her and Rose dining at the little French cafe Rose loves so much. She smiles at the scene captured: Rose waiving her hands animatedly as she tells a story, Daphne listening with rapt attention, her chin propped elegantly in her hand. They both look really happy. 

For the first time in a long time, she feels really happy too.

* * *

Rose has always preferred to make a statement when it comes to fashion. One look at her and others can see that she’s a little messy, probably very creative, and slightly odd in the best way. When things got really bad, and she created a safe, boring, line of staid skirt suits too uptight even for flight attendants it became pretty clear that she had lost herself for a while.

The investors that funded her train wreck of a fashion show where she met Debbie and Lou made it very clear: we will give you money as long as you don’t embarrass us. No bold colors or dazzling fabrics, no models with chunky combat boots or flowers in their hair. So she did what she had to, to survive. She’s sure those dull-toned pant and skirt suits look very appropriate on whatever business women have purchased them from Macy’s.

She sold her two yachts and paid all outstanding taxes the second Debbie gave her the green light. Now, with the burden of the IRS off her back, and no debt to her name, Rose is finally making her best pieces again. She’s was on the cover of _Vogue Italia_ last month thanks to her comeback, and her creations have littered the pages of _Vanity Fair, People_ , and a dozen other publications. She feels at peace with herself again, and a lot of it is thanks to Daphne.

Looking down at her oversized sketch pad, Rose grabs a pencil from her hair to doodle as she thinks. Her hand glides over the page, sketching lightly the lines of Daphne’s Oscar dress that’s almost completed on the mannequin across the room. Gently she fills in other details from memory, a soft swoop of brown hair, the gentle curve of a waist, huge beautiful eyes.

When she needed it most, Daphne has proved to be the most unlikely friend. She can be a little vain, sure, but what actress isn’t? That she is also gentle and sweet and smart has been the most delightful surprise for Rose to discover. If it weren’t for Daphne insisting that Rose dress her for press outings following the Met Gala, Rose isn’t quite sure where she would be.

Rose takes a look down to inspect her work. Staring back at her are the two deep brown eyes of someone who holds a great deal of her affection. She looks a little longingly at the one thing she wants that money can’t buy.

A shrill ringing shocks Rose out of her musings. “Ms. Weil?” A voice says from the intercom of her telephone.

“Yes, Angelica?” Rose answers her store manager, trying not to sound surprised.

“Your 3 o’clock appointment is here. Should I send her up?”

“Er, yes. Remind me again who my 3 o’clock appointment is, please?” Rose asks.

“Lou Miller.”

“Right, right. Of course. Thank you.”

A beat later Lou swings open the door to her studio, pulling off leopard print pants far better than anyone should be able to.

“Rosie, long time no see,” she says, swaggering in confidently. “What’s new?”

Rose walks up to hug her friend. She is in dire need of a happy distraction. Because Daphne’s dress is all but finished, her mind has begun to wander.

“I have your gloves!” Rose says, “Let me just grab them from the back here. The tear was a quick fix.” 

“You’re a lifesaver, Rose Weil,” Lou says with her easy charm. 

“That’s what they say,” Rose says over her shoulder. 

As she waits, Lou pages through Rose’s sketches laid out on the drawing table. Visions of Daphne are revealed to her, one by one, page after page. Daphne flipping her hair over her shoulder, Daphne with her head thrown back in a laugh, Daphne with smoldering bedroom eyes. The drawings are exceptional. Rose has somehow captured Daphne’s essence as a lover would, showcasing her beauty and sensuality effortlessly. Rose steps back into the room with Lou’s lucky motorcycle gloves in hand, patched up as good as new. 

"What are these?” Lou asks, holding up one of the drawings. 

Rose blushes a thousand shades of red, “Those are nothing, just some sketches I-" 

“These don’t look like nothing,” Lou teases. 

Rose’s embarrassment turns quickly to despair as she rushes to cover up the sketches. Lou, perceptive as ever notices immediately. 

“Hey, Rose?” She leans down to catch Rose’s eyes. "I’m sorry, I don’t mean to tease.” 

Rose lets out a huge sigh, “It’s alright, I know you don’t mean anything by it.” 

“Does she know?” Lou asks. 

“Know what?” 

“How you feel about her.” 

“It doesn’t matter.” Rose says with finality. “She’s straight.” 

“A lot of people are,” Lou says back easily, “Until they aren’t.” 

“And she’s at least a decade younger than me.” 

“Nothing but a number,” Lou winks. 

“Jesus Lou,” Rose says helplessly. “It’s not as easy for me as it was for you and Debbie! I can’t just walk in wearing leather and have women fawning all over me."

Lou laughs as she stands to leave. “Maybe one of you should try going to prison.” Lou suggests with a shrug, “That seemed to do the trick."

Lou engulfs Rose in a bear hug, kisses her adorable scrunched-up forehead.

“You’ll never know if you don’t try.” She takes the gloves as Rose offers them. “Thanks a million for these, by the way. I owe you one." Rose waves her off.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Lou says before shutting the door.

Rose sighs and sinks down heavily in her chair, thinking far too hard about Lou’s words.

* * *

Daphne waits impatiently for the big reveal. Her leg bounces up and down constantly as Rose goes to fetch her dress. At least the couch in Rose’s studio is really comfy.

“Are your eyes still closed?” Rose calls in her direction. Daphne can hear her moving around and the anticipation is killing her. 

“You have about 30 seconds before they won’t be!” Daphne calls back. Rose would be offended if she couldn’t tell immediately that it was an empty threat.

“Just one more second.” Rose says. She sounds much closer now.

Daphne hears fabric rustling. “Alright,” Rose whispers, “You can open your eyes.”

The most magical dress Daphne has ever seen greets her when she opens her eyes. It is made of the finest gold silk, foamy layers draped over one another, each covered by an intricate pattern of shiny gold thread. It’s a dress fit for an empress and Daphne can hardly believe that this artistry is all for her.

“Oh my God,” Daphne whispers reverently, reaching out to softly touch a piece of silk. Tears come to her eyes. “Rose, I can hardly believe this. This is for me?”

Rose, who at first looked nervous waiting for a reaction, lets her face relax into a smile. “Of course it is, my dear.” Rose says, touching her shoulder gently. “No one else could do this dress justice.”

Daphne looks right into her eyes and gives her a smile that might just outshine the sun. Rose blushes. “Do you want to try it on?”

“Just try and stop me,” Daphne laughs.

The second she stepped into it, Daphne knew it would fit like a glove. Somehow, this dress manages to make her look curvy and beautiful, instead of too-skinny and pale. 

Looking at herself in the tri-fold mirror, Daphne catches sight of Rose’s reflection standing right behind her. “I don’t know how to thank you.” 

“I wasn’t lying” Rose says looking right into her eyes, “When I told you that you would walk in the room and light up the sky.” 

Daphne turns to look at the only person that might truly understand her. Her Rose, the one of the most brilliant artists and wholesome people she’s ever met. 

“You are my absolute favorite person, Rose. I mean that.” She says softly, the honesty of her own words shocking her. 

“I could say the same,” Rose whispers, her voice just as earnest. 

It hits Daphne very suddenly how lucky anyone would be to have Rose, all of her. Her mind leaps quickly to another thought. _I would be so incredibly lucky to have her._

As she looks into Rose’s gorgeous amber eyes, she thinks of all the pieces of Rose that she would gladly call hers. Her anxious ring fidgeting, and creative rants, and random pieces of clothing strewn about every surface. More importantly, her mind, her body, her heart. 

__

She’s always been one to jump in with both feet. 

“Do you want to be my date to the Oscars?” She says suddenly, this new realization still swimming around in her mind.

Rose looks completely shocked for a few seconds before letting out a twinkling little laugh. “Why, I thought you’d never ask.”

Six days later, Daphne picks her up in a sleek black limousine. Rose agonized over what to wear for a full 24 hours before settling on one of her favorite outfits - a tailored tux. She didn’t want to overshadow Daphne with one of her more “expressive” outfits, so she goes for a classic look instead. If Daphne’s look when she sees her is any indication, she has chosen correctly.

“Wow,” Daphne breathes when Rose slides into the back of the car beside her. “Rose, you look amazing.”

The suit jacket cuts high in the front, with dramatic tails down the back, and the crisp white button-down blouse Rose wears plunges far lower than anything Daphne has ever seen her wear. The stripe down the side of her pants matches the gold of Daphne’s dress perfectly.

“Thank you,” Rose blushes. “It’s not too much?”

Daphne takes her hand, and presses a quick kiss to her cheek. “It’s perfect.”

The red carpet is never Rose’s cup of tea, so after a few tense-looking photos Rose wanders a few feet away from Daphne in search of champagne. “I won’t go far,” she promises, and leaves Daphne to bask in the limelight as is her due. She’s an old pro at looking gorgeous for hundreds of publications under all those flashbulbs.

She returns a few moments later to the press junket but Daphne is nowhere to be found. After wandering about for a few minutes she spots her. Off in a corner she sees Daphne talking tersely with a thin blond man in an Armani suit. She holds both flutes in her hand tightly and shrinks back around the corner, just out of sight.

“When I told you to find a date for the Oscars, Daphne, this is not at all what I meant.” Ted argues.

“Why? Because Rose Weil is an actual person with a brain?” 

“No. Because she’s a woman. And she could be your mother! And her prime passed her by in 1997!” 

“You ungrateful son of a bitch,” Daphne glowers, the venom in her voice unmistakable. “You’re fired.” 

“You can’t fire me!” Ted bellows, “Your contract clearly states-“ 

“I believe I just did. Fuck the contract.” 

Ted can only sputter in response, still in shock from losing one of his biggest clients. 

“And if you ever come within ten feet of Rose Weil, or let her name fall out of your disgusting mouth in the press, I will sue you for all you are worth, Theodore Elliot.” Daphne’s voice is sharp enough to cut glass. 

“Rose!” Daphne calls to the other woman, trying unsuccessfully to sneak away unseen. 

“Erm, yes?” 

“Let’s go find our seats,” Daphne takes her arm, gently leading her away. “Is one of those for me?” She gestures to the champagne. 

Rose hands a flute of champagne to her and she drinks it all practically in one gulp. Helpfully, Rose hands her the second as well, which disappears in similar fashion. Daphne leaves them on a serving table as they make their way inside. 

“Are you alright?” Rose asks after a second. Daphne looks a little flushed, but has calmed down considerably. 

“I’m amazing, actually.” She smiles, at Rose, letting the presence of the other woman calm her spirit. “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time.” 

“You didn’t have to do that for me, Daphne. I can take what people say about me.” 

“Of course I did. You shouldn’t have to. No one deserves that.” 

“Thank you.” Rose says earnestly. Her face is so open and loving that Daphne could kiss her right then and there and die a happy woman. Instead, she just smiles and leads Rose to their seats. Perhaps they can have a talk later. 

For all the pomp and circumstance, the Oscars drag by a little slowly. The host is charming enough, and the monologues are pretty funny but it takes a little while for Daphne to really get into it. She can’t help but think that she would rather be at home with Rose, watching one of those inane romantic comedies she loves.

Soon enough, the evening draws her in and she claps and smiles along with the rest of the audience in good spirits. She is hardly paying attention when the category she’s nominated for is called.

“And now for best supporting actress,” the host croons into the microphone. Daphne smiles genuinely as her name is announced as one of the contenders and she watches a brief clip of herself in Les Miserables. Rose squeezes her hand tightly, seemingly one large ball of nervous energy.

Daphne feels pretty serene, she doesn’t expect her name to be called. After all, she’s up against Amy Adams and Angelina Jolie, so she may not even have a fighting chance. Rose has surprising hand strength as she grips her fingers, the envelope on stage is ripped open.

“And the winner is…” He draws out dramatically, “Daphne Kluger - Les Miserables!”

Daphne could not be more shocked. She stands, almost on auto pilot. Rose takes her into her arms in a huge hug. People all around her look impressed as she makes her way onto the stage. Briefly she panics, remembering that she has no speech prepared.

Falling back on experience she thanks the director of the film and a few others. In the audience she can see Rose’s face clearly, shining up at her and full of love. She decides to speak from the heart.

“It would be wrong not to dedicate this award to someone who means so very much to me, and who helped me see that the world can be full of beauty and light and creativity. I’ve made changes in myself recently, for the better. And none of them would have been possible without her.

“She is without a doubt the most creative person I know, and gives everything she has to those around her, never asking for anything in return. She adds so much to the world, and I am forever grateful that with each creation she gives us a tiny glimpse into her beautiful mind. Without her, I would not be standing here. I would not know personally how such selfless love could save someone. 

“I see you. I see you, and I love you. I would like to dedicate this award to my very favorite person, Rose Weil.”

Rose sits gobsmacked in her seat, as Daphne exits stage right. She can’t help the teary smile that comes to her face, and cares very little about whatever camera may be zoomed in on her. _Daphne loves me. She sees me. She loves me._ Plays on repeat in her head. Tonight is definitely something special.

A few minutes later, an attendant comes to retrieve her, “Ms. Kluger is backstage waiting for you,” he says. 

He guides her back behind the stage through a complicated maze of hallways. Finally she reaches Daphne, sitting in a small dressing room lit up by soft vanity lights. She is a vision.

Before Rose can lose her nerve she walks right up to Daphne and takes her face in both hands. “Oh Daphne,” she says, “I am so very, very proud of you.” And kisses her as if her life depends on it.

When she pulls away, Daphne gives her a blinding smile. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you, Rose.” Daphne whispers, resting her forehead against Rose’s.

Their next kiss is far more gentle. Rose takes her time getting to know this new part of Daphne. She presses her lips softly against Daphne’s, breathes in her perfume, runs a hand through her soft hair. It isn’t until Daphne grasps at the back of her neck, pulling her in deeply that the kiss heats up. Daphne pulls a little at her bottom lip, nibbling until Rose’s mouth opens just enough to get a taste of her tongue.

“Oh,” she says, pulling back after a minute. “I have to tell you something.”

Daphne looks a little dreamy. “Yes?”

“I love you, too,” Rose confesses. And gets a huge smile in return.

“I’m glad,” she laughs, “It would be really embarrassing if you didn’t.”

Rose holds her hand all the way back out into the lobby. Daphne’s statue is heavy in her hand, and she waits at the booth to get the name plate engraved. 

“I can hardly believe it,” She says breathlessly to Rose.

Rose takes the hand in hers, kissing the back of it briefly. “Believe it, my love. You earned this.” 

When the attendant hands the award back with a smile, Daphne looks down to admire it. She runs her finger over the shiny gold name plate.

_Best Supporting Actress in a Dramatic Film_  
Daphne Kuger  
Les Miserables - 2018 

There is a champagne toast to the winners, and the drinks all start flowing in earnest. They make their way back slowly through the press junket. This time, Rose seems far more relaxed and does not leave Daphne’s side for more than a few shots. They are seemingly the belles of the ball, every publication is fighting to get a short quote or an interview. After about about an hour or two, the adrenaline and alcohol are wearing off, and Daphne calls her driver so that he can take them home. 

“My place or yours?” She jokes in the back of the limo.

Rose laughs, “Unless someone has mysteriously broken in and brought me groceries, we should probably head to yours.” 

“Fair enough,” Daphne concedes, resting her head on Rose’s shoulder for the drive. She presses a kiss to the soft skin of Rose’s neck. Rose closes her eyes in delight. 

Traffic is light for once, probably due to the late hour, and they make it back to Daphne’s penthouse in short order. Once they arrive, Rose’s nerves come fluttering back one by one. 

Daphne sets her Oscar on the coffee table, shucks her shoes and clutch in the direction of the sofa. Rose tensely looks back at her. Daphne looks gorgeous in the low light of the night, her hair a little mussed, and her bare feet allowing her to seem more of a human and less of an ethereal goddess. Rose can hardly believe that such a beautiful woman suddenly belongs to her.

Sensing her nervousness Daphne says “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Rose.”

“Oh, I very much want to,” Rose confesses, “I am just a little nervous.”

“It’s just me,” Daphne takes her by the shoulders, rubbing comfortingly. “How can I help?”

Rose draws closer. “Kiss me,” She whispers, only a breath away from her mouth. And she does. 

Daphne leads them back towards her bedroom, only pausing their heated kiss when absolutely necessary. Somewhere along the way her dress has become mostly unzipped and Rose has lost her pants, suit jacket, and one shoe.

Rose carelessly kicks off the other one, stands in Daphne’s room in just an unbuttoned white shirt and her black lingerie. Daphne can’t lie, if someone had told her that this is where she would be a year ago she would have laughed in their face. But now, she just sends a silent prayer up to whoever is listening, thanking them for her good fortune.

Daphne unzips her dress completely, letting it fall toward the ground. She steps out of it and lays it across her vanity chair. At the sight of all her pale, smooth skin Rose is a little breathless. She pulls Daphne in for another kiss, running a hand up and down the base of her spine and another comes up to caress her cheek.

The back of Daphne’s knees hit the bed, and she slides back toward the headboard, making room for Rose to straddle her lap.

“Here let me just get the light,” Rose reaches over to switch the lamp off, plunging the room into moonlight. 

“Rose? What the hell? I can’t see you.” Daphne’s voice is indignant. 

“Erm,” Rose stammers, “Do you want to?” 

“That’s why I’m here,” Daphne says honestly. 

“Hmm,” Rose thinks aloud. Daphne can hear the nerves in her voice, feel how tense Rose’s body has gone above hers. 

Daphne shifts her bare legs a little against Rose’s thighs. She will be patient of course, but she feels a little eager too. 

Rose speaks after a second. “You’re aware of course, that I am almost two decades older than you.” 

She can practically feel Daphne rolling her eyes, “It has crossed my mind, yes.” 

“And my boobs never once looked as good as yours.” 

“Rose, for the love of god, honey, I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t attracted to you.” Somehow Daphne manages to sound both sincere and a little exasperated all at once. 

Rose switches the lamp back on, searching her face for the truth. Daphne doesn’t flinch. Her eyes find the vee of cleavage where Rose’s blouse has come completely unbuttoned. Lust blooms on her face. 

“Well then,” Rose says, finally opening up. She lunges forward to steal a kiss. 

Rose has seen Daphne kiss love interests in movies, and has always marveled at her skill and sex appeal. But to have all of that raw energy focused solely on her is intoxicating. Daphne takes her breath away, and before she realizes it, she’s in her just her underwear. 

Anxious to even the score she reaches around to free Daphne’s breasts from her lacy bra. Daphne helps, lifting it over her head and tossing it behind her onto the floor. As soon as it is removed, Rose can’t help herself, she leans in for a taste, feels her own body getting warmer when Daphne moans and her hips grind into Rose’s from below her. 

Daphne uses a free hand to pull her closer, and Rose obeys, nipping lightly with her teeth. “Oh,” Daphne sighs, which only spurs Rose on. She could do this all day, she would to anything to hear those soft sighs and moans. 

Daphne urges Rose to lift her hips slightly, so that her underwear can be removed. Checking her face to make sure it’s okay, Rose nods, and Daphne slips two fingers easily between her legs. She marvels at the soft hot wetness, feeling like heaven is resting gently in her palm. 

Rose lets out a whimper, and urges her hips forward repeatedly, “Oh, that’s good,” she moans, “So, so good.” Her hips move in earnest now, and Rose throws her head back wantonly. Daphne leans forward to take a dusky nipple between her teeth, suckling as she works her hand deeper into Rose. Judging by the sounds Rose makes, she won’t last much longer, so Daphne really goes for it. 

All too soon, Daphne feels the unmistakeable throb of Rose’s orgasm and can’t take her eyes away from the look of pure pleasure that takes over her face. Taking Daphne’s face in both hands, Rose kisses her deeply as she comes down from her high. Her legs feel like they are made of jelly and warmth blooms in her chest. Daphne removes her hand gently and licks her fingers clean one by one. 

The action only spurs Rose on, who shimmies down Daphne’s body. She opens Daphne’s smooth pale legs in order to rest between them. She comes face to face with the gorgeous breasts she got to taste earlier for the first time, and she savors them once again. Daphne guides her head with one hand, so she sucks them a little more roughly, drawing a nipple between her teeth. Daphne lets out a loud ragged moan, and her hips rise, looking for friction on their own accord. 

Carefully, Rose removes the delicate lacy underwear as if Daphne might break. There’s such a quiet reverence on her face that tears reach the brim of Daphne’s eyes. She has to tell her, she can’t help it. 

“Rose,” she looks up from between her legs, “I really really love you.” 

Rose smiles a huge smile and says in return, “And I you, my dear.” And her kiss descends. 

Daphne’s hips rise over and over to greet Rose’s mouth. She can’t get enough of the taste of Daphne, her mouth wet and hot and relentless as it devours her. She slips one finger inside, then another as Daphne nods, her mouth never leaving Daphne’s bundle of nerves. She laves gently, then more insistently as Daphne’s cries get louder. When she comes, it is long and drawn out, her body relaxes deeply into the mattress. 

Rose kisses her thigh before moving back up to the head of the bed. Daphne’s kiss is tender and sleepy, Rose’s heart nearly melts. She can’t recall a time in recent memory that she was as happy as she is now. 

“Oh Rose,” she whispers, after Rose reaches over to get the light. She rests her head on Daphne’s shoulder. “My sweet, beautiful flower,” she says softly. Rose kisses her neck once, then again, as they drift off to sleep.

* * *

LATER

Daphne decides her first interview “out of the closet” so to speak will be on Stephen Colbert. He’s an old friend and someone who always makes her feel comfortable instead of interrogated. Rose tags along for moral support, happy to sit in her dressing room back stage and sample the large array of snacks. Daphne is never the one to deny her of the little things that bring her joy.

“Thanks so much, Daphne for chatting with me.” Stephen greets her as she takes a seat.

“Thanks for having me, Stephen.” 

“How is that Oscar treating you?” He says right off the bat.

“Oh very well indeed.” She agrees with an easy smile

“Do you have a shrine dedicated to it?”

“Not quite, but it is on my kitchen counter.” The crowd laughs.

“Really?” Stephen chuckles himself. “Why the counter?”

“I wanted to keep it someplace I would see it and appreciate it often.” 

“Fair enough,” Colbert agrees. “Has life changed for you at all since the big win? People stopping you on the street or sending you free things?”

“Jimmy Fallon sent me a five dollar gift card to Subway, so I would say that’s a pretty big accomplishment.” Daphne states, as the audience and Stephen delight in her response.

“And Rose and I posed for a selfie with some kids and their moms on the way over here, actually.”

“Ahh yes, the lovely Rose Weil.” Stephen puts his chin in his hand, “You two made quite the splash at the Oscars, didn’t you?”

“Go big, or go home, am I right?”

“You are, of course.” He agrees. “I have to say, she seems a little bit of an unexpected choice for you, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“Not at all,” Daphne chuckles.

“What brought you two together?”

“I can’t really put my finger on it, if I am being honest.” Daphne thinks, “I just looked at her one day and realized she was the one. That I had this brilliant, creative, gentle soul right in front of me and that if I didn’t take a chance at my own happiness, I would regret it for the rest of my life.”

“That’s the sweetest thing I have literally ever heard.” Colbert says genuinely, but with enough sarcasm to make both the crowd and Daphne laugh.

He plays a reel from her upcoming film and asks her all the right questions. Daphne takes a look around at the smiling audience, and the glittering studio lights. She thinks of Rose back stage waiting for her, of the late dinner they are likely to share when filming is over, of how delicious dessert is sure to be. She thinks of Debbie and Lou and Nine Ball and the rest of the girls who have made her crazy life the best it could possibly be, filled to the brim with happiness.


End file.
